


Cascade

by mavy1



Series: Water and Light [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood/Violence Mention, M/M, POV Second Person, POV Zuko, Pre-Relationship, Zuko may fall hard but he's also oblivious, boy shit really hits the fan in chapter three, if you came here for the fluff... you're gonna get whiplash, mostly fluff - for now, yeah it get's pretty angsty but it'll work out eventually I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-06-25 08:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mavy1/pseuds/mavy1
Summary: Sokka’s fixing you with a soft gaze, and you can’t help but stare as his lips curl into a smile, and he chuckles quietly at your plight. You can’t remember having ever heard a better sound. And that’s when you realize. You’d make a fool of yourself over and over, do everything you could, if it would only make Sokka look at you like that.Fire nation prince you may be, but what you truly seek now is the smile of one distinctly blue-eyed boy.





	1. Cascade

 

You stand listening to the gentle babbling of the fountain that echoes ever so slightly in the canyon bellow you. The warmth of the sun and the cool summer breeze mingle on your skin like partners locked in an endless slow dance. Eyes closed, arms crossed, you let the world surround you. It’s beautiful here. Who would have thought that amongst the ruins of an air temple is where the prince of the fire nation would find himself? Disgraced prince – true - but still. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this peaceful.  Too long – and you want to live in this moment for as long as you can.

 

Unfortunately for you your new companion has other ideas.

 

“Zuko! Hey Zuko! What are you doing?” A voice shouts from behind you, breaking you out of your little universe, and your mind comes crashing back before you’re really ready, instantly irritating you.

 

Sighing heavily, you turn towards it, brow furrowed and pinching the bridge of your nose, trying not to say something you’ll regret. “Nothing. At least _not anymore_.”

 

“Great! Then that means you’ll have time to spar with me!” You’re head whips around to see Sokka running over. You hadn’t recognized him right away, but his wide, toothy grin and too cheerful voice only add to your aggravation.

 

“Sokka, I don’t want to sound... uh… _rude…_ but no. Absolutely not. No,” you say flatly and with as much authority as you can muster. That’s it. End of conversation. Or at least, it would be, if Sokka weren’t quite so… Sokka.

 

“Aww come _ooon_ Zuko. You sparred with me befooore! Was it really that bad?” He shoves you’re shoulder gently, adding just enough whine into his voice to make it seem playful rather than harsh.

 

“Yes! You cheated! You hit me in the head with your stupid boomerang!” The memory of the headache you received for caving in to his demands the last time is all too clear in your mind. Yet, still, you can feel a crack forming in your resolve.

 

“Okay, first: my boomerang is _not_ stupid. Second: it wasn’t _technically_ cheating because we never _specifically_ said no boomerangs. And If I _pinky swear_ not to do that again will you _please_ spar with me?” By now Sokka has given up all pretense of maintaining his dignity. His previously whiny tone has transformed into full-blown begging, and he takes your hand in his own, maybe to drag you along after him, or maybe to make good on his threat to subject you to whatever a _pinky swear_ is. The sudden, unprompted contact is startling, but not unpleasant, and you’re forced to hold back a smile as you feel those cracks begin to widen.

 

“ _Pinky sw-?_ Wha- No!” you tear your hand away with a bit too much force in your attempt to sell your slowly receding anger. “ _Look Sokka_ , I don’t have time to fool around with you alright!” You know if you don’t get out of here soon you’ll crumble. With that in mind you begin trying to subtlety maneuver around him, backing your way slowly out of the courtyard.

 

“Oh come _oooon!_ You _just_ said you weren’t busy! Plus, how do you expect me to stay in prime fire nation fighting shape if I don’t have anyone to train with!” Sokka gives an exaggerated wink and makes muscles at you in what is obviously meant to be a humorous display. It should be ridiculous, but mostly you just find it oddly endearing. Crap. You’re going to cave.

 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t busy, I just said I wasn’t _doing_ anything.” You lengthen your strides, hoping to escape before the last of your defences crumble away. Sokka, of course, follows. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. _Unrelenting_ is more like it, actually.

 

“That’s the same thing! Come on, _please?_ Just a few rounds?” Sokka catches and holds your gaze, and you find yourself unable to turn away. You think you really ought to kill whoever it was that taught him those puppy-dog eyes. Damn were they effective.

 

“Look, I -” you’re about to make one finally attempt at escape when something cold and solid hits the back of your legs – hard. You catch a fleeting glimpse of a worried expression flash over Sokka’s face and see him reach out a hand to catch you – too late. You keel over backwards, arms flailing, fingers grasping at the air for some non-existent handhold. You have just enough time to panic before a wall of cold water envelopes you as you come crashing down.

 

Your hands meet the cool tile bottom of the fountain, and after a few seconds you manage to push your head back above the surface of the water. At first the only sounds are the quiet trickling of the fountain and your gasping breath as you cough up the water in your lungs.

 

 After a minute you manage to look up through your wet bangs, now plastered to your face. You meet Sokka’s eyes and something inside him seems to snap. In an instant, his worried expression contorts and cracks into what is just about the widest smile you’ve ever seen, accompanied by raucous, uncontrolled laughter. He’s doubled over with it, hands on his knees and tears streaming down his face. It’s that too-high, too-loud kind of laugh. That chest-aching, gut-wrenching kind. That bad joke that’s only funny in the middle of the night when you’re tired and out of your head kind. And it should make you angry. Because he’s laughing at _you._ If it were anyone else, you realize, it would. But Sokka’s laugh is like lilting music in your ears. His smile like a soothing balm on an angry wound. And you can’t get enough of it.

 

Until, that is, you realize you’re stuck. Well, not stuck exactly, but the edge of the fountain is too high for you to simply climb back out the way you came in, at least not with your legs still hanging half over the edge like they are. You know you’re going to have to get in – really _get in_ – before you can do that. Awkwardly you roll over backwards, submerging yourself once more, before rising to a kneel in the knee-deep pool, somehow even more drenched than you were only seconds ago.

 

Witnessing this is the final straw for Sokka. He’s now lying curled on the ground, laughing so hard it comes out more like a harsh bark than anything, and you’re almost worried he might hurt himself. Almost. It’s not a very nice sound, and you’ve had quite enough of it to be honest. So, you decide to put a stop to it.

 

Flattening your hand, you drag it through the water, creating a small wave that’s _almost_ waterbender worthy. It splashes over the fountain’s edge, drenching Sokka’s face and chest. He rolls away in shock, gasping and sputtering as he tries to spit the water out of his mouth.

 

“Hey man, what the fuck!” He shouts, fixing you with an icy glare.

 

“Sorry. Guess I’m just clumsy.” You shrug, trying for a moment to fake regret, only to cave and offer him your best imitation of his classic wry smirk.

 

“You jerk!” He retorts, but he’s laughing again now. He picks himself up of the dusty ground, offers his own – admittedly better – version of the smirk you just gave him, and tackles you back into the fountain.

 

By the time you finish thrashing about, shouting curses, and holding each other under the water you’re both out of breath, leaning back on your hands and still half-submerged in the pool. You’re soaked right through, and the cool summer breeze chills your damp skin, but you make no further effort to escape.

 

Sokka’s fixing you with a soft gaze, and you can’t help but stare as his lips curl into a smile, and he chuckles quietly at your plight. You can’t remember having ever heard a better sound. And that’s when you realize. You’d make a fool of yourself over and over, do everything you could, if it would only make Sokka look at you like _that._ You’d do anything for it – for him.

 

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, writing this was a bit like hitting my head against a wall until the words fell out, but in the end I got It done and I don't hate it, so that's what matters right?
> 
> Anyways, Zuko is hopelessly in love with Sokka right from the beginning, he's just to dense to realize it, man.
> 
> This goes along with my first work Firelight, which is written from Sokka's pov. I just wanted to explore Zuko's side of things too.


	2. Stream

Your eyes can’t help but be drawn to the flickering flame of the candle casting a soft light across the parchments that litter your desk. The shadows it makes twist and turn, jumping over and around the letters you’ve scrawled somewhat untidily down and across the rough pages. Maybe that’s why you can’t seem to focus on them for long without your head aching. You take a moment to close your eyes and rest your forehead in your hand, sighing heavily and making the flames dance wildly. The pounding in your head is almost audible now.

 

Actually, you’re pretty sure it’s no longer just in your head, but that someone is thumping heavily on the door behind you. It’s soon silenced though, replaced by arguing voices. Hushed at first, they quickly rise, though you can’t quite make out what they're saying until the door is suddenly flung wide.

 

“Hey! I said you can’t go in there! The fire lord is seeing no one!” A soft beam of light spills through the newly open doorway, followed shortly by a goofy-smiled Sokka, and then by a sour-faced guard who is clearly determined not to be undermined quite so easily.

 

“Oh really? Well If I can’t be in Zuko’s chamber than what am I doing in here right now? Answer me that smart guy!” Sokka moves like a whirlwind through the room, dodging around the guard not for the first time that morning, you assume. Skirting around your chair he lands in front of you, leaning casually on your desk and blocking out the candlelight. Undeterred, the guard storms across the room, reaching for Sokka’s arm as he does so.

 

“Also, of _course_ Zuko isn’t seeing anyone, it’s pitch black in here!” He ducks under the outstretched arm, once again avoiding his would-be captor. Running to the widow he throws back the curtains in a single dramatic motion, bathing you in the unwelcome light and warmth of the late morning sun.

 

“Can you believe this guy?” he taunts. The two circle your desk, playing a fruitless game of cat-and-mouse that Sokka seems to enjoy just a little too much. He makes no effort to avoid disturbing you – quite the opposite actually. He scatters parchment across your lap and to the floor, knocks over pen and ink, even the candle tilts dangerously, dripping wax on your desk and threatening to ignite whatever papers Sokka hasn’t already disturbed or ruined.  “How _do_ you put up with this, Zuko?”

 

“Alright, that’s _enough_!” The guard freezes almost immediately before bowing slightly and backing away from your desk. Sokka, however, seating himself on the corner of your desk, simply plasters a smug grin on his face, eyeing the guard with an air of superiority that is just begging to be challenged.

With a heavy sigh you rest your head in your hand, waving them away. The guard, bowing deeply, backs out of your room, though not before offering many hearty apologies. But Sokka only leans further into your space.

 

“You tell him, Zuko,” he says, resting his arm on your shoulder and leaning heavily against you.

 

“Actually, Sokka, I was _talking to you.”_ You do your best to shrug him off and return to the work you were doing before his interruption.

 

“Oh.” He hops lightly down from your desk, instead moving across the room and throwing himself rather ungracefully down on your bed.

 

“What are you doing here?” you ask after the awkward silence stretches on just a bit too long for you.

 

“Well, I haven’t seen you in a couple of days. I – I guess I just wanted to, uh, check up on you,” he says. He won’t meet your eyes, instead staring absently at the floor and fidgeting with the sheets.

 

“I’m _fine_ Sokka, really,” you assure him. What you’d really like is to get back to work, even if that little voice at the back of your mind is reminding you that you weren’t exactly being productive even before he arrived. You’re too sleep-deprived for that. Or to listen to it apparently. “Look, I just don’t exactly have time to screw around with you, okay?”

 

“O – kay. I guess I’ll just go then.” He gets up suddenly. With his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look quite so dejected. But that fades quickly, replaced by hurt and anger. “Sorry to have _wasted your time_ , oh great one.”

 

As he turns to go you’re overtaken by the need to stop him. You know you’re busy, but you can’t stand the idea of Sokka leaving - especially not like this. So, you jump up quickly from your desk and rush after him. “Wait, I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I mean, I guess I can spare a few hours.”

 

“Gosh, aren’t I just _so lucky_?” He rolls his eyes at you, but you can see the ghost of a barely contained smile touch his lips, and the gentle shove he gives you before taking your hand is warm and good-natured. “Come on, follow me _your majesty_.”

 

The two of you make your way through the shadows of the palace, dodging guards and advisers, dignitaries and staff, keeping your heads low, just the two of you, unnoticed in a sea of people. You make it out of the palace and through town without being given so much as a second glance, Sokka guiding you down quiet corridors and back roads. Even once you’re deep in the forest beyond the palace he still holds your hand firmly in his. Maybe he’s just afraid if he lets you go you’ll use the opportunity to escape. But, after what must have been at least an hour of walking, you begin to wonder if maybe _he’s_ the one trying to escape, and he’s just taking you with him. You know it’s silly. But really, you wouldn’t mind. If it were true. There isn’t really anywhere else you’d rather be. Or anyone you’d rather be with.

 

Eventually, though, the trees begin to thin. You hear the sound of rushing water long before you see the river you know is there. You’ve recognized where you are, though you haven’t been here in years. Not since before your cousin died.

 

The two of you pick your way down one of several small waterfalls that feed cold mountain creek water to the river, Sokka still holding your hand with one of his own and using the other to grasp low-hanging branches and the slick, rounded stones of the creek bed to keep you both on your feet. Reaching the bottom, he lets you go, and you step into the gentle warmth of the midday sun to take in your surroundings.

 

It was always beautiful here. You had almost forgotten.

 

The river is wide but shallow, with braided channels that split, curl, and met again, dancing far into the distance, sheltered between two mountain ridges, hidden from the world. The water within is crystal clear and cold as ice. It tumbles relentlessly over and around the stones of its bed, their edges smoothed and softened by its embrace, twisting itself up in a mad dash to reach the ocean, the final destination in its long journey. The stony beach on which you find yourself sits in the wide curve of one of its channels, littered with large boulders the river no longer has the strength to carry. It’s on one of these that Sokka now sits, removing his shoes and rolling up the legs of his pants to venture in to the icy stream.

 

He notices you watching him and makes room for you to join him on his boulder. So, you do, removing your own shoes with a bit more apprehension than he did. Dipping your toes into the water, you shiver, and lean your back up against his shoulder to steal a little of his warmth. The two of you stay that way for a long while. Only this time, the silence you share isn’t anything like uncomfortable.

 

“My uncle used to bring us here.” This place had always been special to him. And to Lu Ten. That’s probably why you haven’t been here in so long. You assumed your uncle hadn’t either.

 

“I know. Who do you think showed me?” Your surprise at that must have shown plainly, since Sokka quickly adds “Cooped up in the palace city, I was pretty homesick. I guess he thought this might help.”

 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sokka.” It should have been you that realized how your friend was feeling, but you had been too preoccupied lately to even see him. And it felt _awful_ knowing your uncle had to pick up the slack for you on this too _._

 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ve got more than enough work to keep us busy. Or, I mean, you do at least.” He turns his face away from you as he speaks, likely to try to keep his true feelings hidden, but you can feel the tension is his body, and see it in the way he crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“Yeah. Right.” You’re not sure if he’s fishing for an explanation or not, but you think he deserves one either way. An apology too. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just… how can I justify slacking off when there’s just so much that needs to be done? My people need me to guide them and I feel like if I slip for even a moment that I’m falling behind. And we can’t afford that. The world can’t afford it. And I thought, if anyone would understand how important this is, it would be you.”

 

“I do understand, believe me. When we were fighting in the war I never wanted anything to distract us from our purpose. We had to stay sharp. Focused. No breaks. No distractions. But this _isn’t_ war, Zuko. This is your life. There’s not light at the end of the tunnel that you’re trying to reach. It’s just this. And if you keep going the way you have been, not sleeping, not eating, not taking any time for yourself, you’re going to burn out. And then what? What good is that to anyone? How can you take care of an entire nation if you can’t even take care of yourself?” His voice goes soft as he speaks to you, somehow sounding kind even through the scolding, and he leans his shoulder a bit more firmly into your back, reminding you of just how close you are.

 

“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” If you were being honest with yourself, you’d have to admit just how lucky you are that Sokka ever even agreed to come to the fire nation in the first place. His advice and support had helped more than anything else in the months since you became fire lord. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, because I’ll deny it anyways, but you usually are.”

 

“Wow, really? You’re not going to let me quote you on that? After everything I’ve done for you?” Sokka gives you a genuine laugh at that, and it is by far the best sound you’ve heard all day. Maybe all week. Definitely.

 

You lapse into silence again. Leaning most of your wait against him, you rest your head against his cheek and close your eyes. You let the sound of running water wash away any other thoughts from your mind, thinking only of how nice it is to sit here with Sokka, and just _be._

 

“If Katara had heard you say that…” Sokka trails off, shaking his head gently.

 

“You must really miss them.” It’s more of a statement than a question, really. You see the sad look that lingers in Sokka’s eyes when he talks about his family. A part of you is always a little worried that one day he’ll decide to leave you for them. It’s selfish, you know, but you can’t help hoping that day will never come. Or wishing there was some way you could stop him.

 

“Yeah I guess I get kind of lonely sometimes. But…” You can feel his shoulder tense up again, and he quickly looks away from you. But not before you can see a slight blush appear on his cheeks.

 

“What is it? You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything.” And you really mean it. Even if he is going to tell you he wants to leave. After everything, the very least you can do is be there for him. You should have been a lot sooner.

 

“It’s just – I’m really only lonely when you’re not around.” When he speaks his voice is thick with emotion and so low that you almost miss it. You think maybe he’s a little ashamed of the admission, but mostly he just sounds sad, and your chest aches thinking you’re the one that caused that.

 

“Sokka I – I’m _really_ sorry.” You take his hand in your own to emphasize the apology – which you seem to be doing a lot of today – and feel your own cheeks heat just a little. “I’ll try harder. I promise.”

 

“No, stupid, _you won’t_. That’s kind of the point, actually.” He gives you a gentle shove to punctuate his fond teasing.

 

For a long time you sit together, listening to him talk about everything and nothing all at once, and thinking of how strange it is that no matter what it is he’s saying, you’d be more than happy to just sit and listen to him all day. Whatever you can get from Sokka while you have him you want to cling to with all your strength. And you’d give anything to have just a little more, for just a little longer.

 

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sokka is a hard-working, goofy, pining mess with a heart of gold. Zuko is a determined, angsty, oblivious disaster who never gives up. What could possibly go wrong, right?
> 
> Wow. Writing dialogue seriously blows. I really liked the concept for this chapter, but I don't know about how it turned out. But, I've been working on it for like 4 days so... yeah. It's done.
> 
> Also, the river is definitely based on a real place I've been that probably wouldn't exist in the fire nation, but whatever. It's my story. I'll do what I like.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!! If you liked this chapter (or if you didn't) I'd love to hear your comments!! Feel free to hmu on tumblr too @backcountry-deltora for fics/art or @mavy1 for my main!!


	3. Flood

This meeting was just like any other. Or at least it should have been. The droning of your dusty old advisors, the bickering of foreign dignitaries and ambassadors, and the seemingly endless poking and prodding of a million and one irrelevant, and frankly down-right intrusive, questions. It was all business as usual. With one notable exception: the seat at your right hand, normally filled by Sokka’s smiling face, was empty. There was no one there to share side-eyed glances with, no one to whisper smart-mouthed jokes into your ear, no one to charm your audience so you didn’t even have to try, or to offer brilliant solutions and advice that only Sokka could ever have thought of. It was, to put it lightly, odd.

 

You aren’t angry. You have no right to be. Technically, as the ambassador to the southern water tribe, Sokka’s presence is not required at any meeting that does not discuss the interests of said tribe. And this one hadn’t. Still, in all the years since Sokka joined you in the fire nation he had never once been absent from any meeting, and you doubt very much that he would start now. So, if anything, you’re a little worried. Okay, a lot worried.

 

Although the meeting ended a few minutes ago, most everyone still seems content to mill about, chatting and making niceties, but you have to know if Sokka is alright. Maybe you’re just being paranoid, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is very _wrong._ Weaving through the crowd you make your way towards the door, only to have it shut in your face.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” You demand. The guard must be relatively new. You recognize his face, but you don’t know his name. And no seasoned guard would dare try such a disrespectful act.

 

“I’m sorry fire lord Zuko, but we can’t let you through.” He’s young, maybe even younger than you are, and not yet skilled at hiding his emotions. He’s clearly nervous, and though that should bother you, it’s almost a relief to finally see someone else who’s as uncomfortable as you. Now you’re more sure of yourself – something is definitely wrong.

 

“What? Why not?” The guards clearly know something you don’t. Not a single one will meet your gaze.

 

“There’s been an… incident in the courtyard” the young guard responds. It looks like he wants to add more but thinks better of it. So be it. You’ll find out for yourself.

 

“What are you talking about? You can’t keep me in here against my will! I order you to open these doors and let me pass!” For a moment you think he might protest. Then his face reddens, and he rushes to open the door.

 

You barely wait for it, slipping through the tight opening and racing down the hall. Unfortunately, it’s a long way to the courtyard, and with ever passing moment you only become more anxious. Nothing is as it should be. The halls are empty of life, even the guards are absent from their posts, and it is deathly quiet. You don’t waste time trying to pass unseen. There’s no one around to stop you. Your ridiculous ceremonial robes are heavy and constricting, and you don’t have your swords, but there isn’t time to worry about either of those things. Whatever is happening, you hope your firebending will be enough to handle it. As you approach the courtyard your steps quicken, and you round the last corner at a flat out run. What you find stops you dead in your tracks.

 

The first thing you notice is the stench – it’s overwhelming. It’s the smell of blood mixed with singed hair and charred flesh, and it washes over you like a tidal wave. Then it’s the sound. The horrible, unmistakeable sound of battle. The scrapping of metal against metal, the crackling of blazing fire, the angry shouts of soldiers and warriors, and the anguished cries that escape their mouths as they are felled by sword or flame. The front doors of the palace have been blown from their hinges, but from where you stand you have a mercifully limited view of the conflict. The bloodshed is still apparent, even if you can’t count the bodies that quench the parched earth with their blood.

 

The form of a tall man crosses your vision, kicked to the ground to add his own life to the thirsty cobblestones. It’s followed shortly by the stumbling figure of Sokka, who halts squarely in the centre of the doorway, bravely holding that invisible line. You have only a moment to take in what you see.

 

Sokka’s arm and side are soaked with blood, but so too is his blade. His breathing is deep and laboured, and his skin pales even as you watch him. _He’s dying,_ you realize. The thought fills you with an unimaginable level of dread.

 

Maybe you called out for him. Or maybe he can simply sense your presence. Whatever the reason, he turns suddenly, meeting and holding your gaze for one long moment. It’s not enough, but it’s all you need to understand, and he gives you a sad but determined smile. Then he turns away, sending a frown and a solemn node to the hallway behind you.

 

The next thing you feel is a heavy blow to the back of your head, and then the cold embrace of darkness as you fall into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

You wake in your own chambers, surrounded by half a dozen heavily armed guards. Your head aches as you sit up, and you’re grateful for the relative darkness that surrounds you. You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed. Though none of the guards present will confess to knocking you out and bringing you here, the venom in your voice when you question them is more than adequate to get them to tell you why.

 

“We were under strict orders not to allow you to join the battle, your majesty,” one of the guards admits, though at least he has the decency to be appropriately uncomfortable with the situation.

 

“Oh, I see, you were _under orders_ , where you? And just who, pray-tell, thinks they have the authority to give orders regarding _my_ actions?” You’re so angry you wonder if your blood might actually start to boil. Did they really have so little respect for your authority?

 

“Well, ambassador Sokka was _very_ specific…” the guard’s voice continues on, but fails to take you with it. You’re no longer interested in his explanations or excuses.

 

 _Sokka_. The memory of his sad smile and blood-soaked form sober you significantly, dousing the flame of your anger. All you can think of is the final, brief look you shared. The piecing gaze that said what you both feared could be true. And all you want is to be allowed to look into those magnificent blue eyes just one more time.

 

“Where is he? Please, I – I must see him.” Your interruption silences the guard briefly, but it only takes him a moment to catch on.

 

“You can’t see him now. He’s with the healers. They’re doing what they can but… he was badly injured.” His voice is gentle but tight, showing more emotion than is appropriate of his posting. But the guards are fond of Sokka. You all are.

 

“I – I understand.” You try not to think about just what that might mean. But you know what you saw. It’s something you’ll remember until you yourself take your final breath, however long that may be.

 

The walls of the room feel tight around you, and an uncomfortable heat has settled in your chest and in the air. You need – something. You’re not sure what, but you know you won’t find it here. “Excuse me. Please I – I need to be alone.” No one tries to stop you as you take your leave.

 

Things start to blur together once outside. Your feet carry you obediently down the abandoned halls of the palace, but where they plan on taking you even you couldn’t say. You feel the pain in your chest like a physical wound. If only it were. If you had been there. Maybe. You should have been there. You should be there with Sokka now. But you’re still as helpless to save him as you were then.

 

Eventually you find yourself standing in the courtyard. Most of the evidence of the recent battle has already been cleared away, but in the soft rays cast by the low dusk sun you can still make out where the blood of your people has fed the earth. People who died fighting you or fighting for you. The distinction hardly matters. Not when seemingly the only person left untouched is you.

 

You step slowly out into the open, walking almost absently, when you hear a low clattering of metal against stone. Looking down, your eye catches the glint of steel. Bowing low, you pick up the long shaft of the arrow, turning it over and over in your hands. It’s one of your own.

 

You close your hand around the arrow’s head and your eyes against the dying light. And against the growing shame you feel. You couldn’t protect your friends or your people. You couldn’t even protect yourself. You hadn’t been allowed to try. You had failed many times before, but this time – _spirits_ , how high was the cost? That knowledge had been denied you was well.

 

A voice begins to register in the back of your mind, calling out softly but insistently, breaking you from your self-pitying spiral. One of the guards has appeared behind you, and it’s he who is calling your name. As you rise you notice the sting of your palm and the blood seeping from between your fingers. You hadn’t meant for that to happen, but it feels right somehow. To add a drop of your own blood to the sacrifice given for you by your people.

 

“I’m sorry to impose, Firelord Zuko, but I thought you would like to know. Ambassador Sokka is awake. He’s asking for you.”

 

You leave the arrow lying in the dust at your feet, lost to it’s final resting place. Solitary, but not alone.

 

* * *

 

 

The healers were not pleased to see you. If the sour looks on their faces hadn’t been enough, they had outright told you so. Sokka, though delirious from pain and blood loss, had refused to rest until he had seen you. And what Sokka needed now was to rest.

 

Normally, their disapproving looks would irritate you, disrespectful as they were, but for once, you think you probably deserve them. After all, they’re right. But knowing Sokka as you do, you can’t deny that, one way or another, he’ll get what he wants from you. Even if he has to put himself in harm’s way to do it. You might as well spare everyone the trouble and give in now.

 

Though there’s no real point in doing so, you take special care to enter the room quietly. The air feels thick and heavy, and though you know you can’t drown on dry land, you feel like you just might. You catch sight of his still form in the healer’s bed, the loose strands of his hair a stark contrast against the white of the pillow., and for a moment you hope he might already have fallen asleep. That hope is dashed when he rolls his head towards you. Blue eyes slightly glazed, smile a little crooked, he greats you.

 

“Hey.” He drags the word out a little sloppily, voice as warm as ever, but lacking it’s characteristic Sokka gusto. He looks tired. Exhausted, really.

 

“Hey.” You return his greeting in a soft voice, but fear keeps you frozen to your spot. Maybe it makes you a coward, but you’re unsure if you can face knowing what Sokka has given for you.

 

“I was worried about you. You got a pretty good blow to the head there. Which I assure you, I did _not_ tell them to do, by the way.”  You know he’s trying to lighten the mood. But your mind won’t focus on that. Of course. Of course _he_ had been worried about _you_. Leave it to Sokka to nearly die, and still only be thinking of you. You’re not sure if it’s courage or guilt, but you find it in yourself to approach, and it’s from his bedside that you take in the full scope of his injuries.

 

He’s lying on his back, and though the white sheets and blankets tucked snuggly around his body hide the worst of the damage from your view, you can still see the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. His left arm, too, is wrapped nearly to his shoulder, and lies limp and useless at his side. You feel the sting of tears begin at the corner of your eye.

 

“Hey. Don’t look at me like that. _Please_.” His voice is soft but insistent, and when you meet his eyes the pain and the _need_ there is so raw it startles you.

 

“Like what?” You manage to force out against the will of the tightness in your throat.

 

“With your angry eyes. I don’t need you yelling at me alright? It’s been a long enough day as it is.” He looks away at that, blinking away tears of his own, and you realize he’s mistaken your anger at yourself as anger at him. And, okay, maybe if you were honest you’d have to admit – he was right. It didn’t really surprise you he knew how you felt better than you did.

 

“I – I won’t yell. I promise.” You settle next to him on the bed, careful not to disturb him. You didn’t want to cause any more pain than you already had. You might be angry, but for Sokka you could put that aside.

 

“Good.” He stares at you through half-closed eyes, slowly reaching up to thread the fingers of his good hand into your hair. You catch and hold his arm, running your fingers over the inside of his wrist, and the soft but steady pulse that beats beneath them. “Good. Because I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”

 

“Why, Sokka? Why did you do it?” Your voice comes out high and broken, and you can feel yourself begin to shake under his gentle attention. “I should have been there. I could have helped you!” At first you try to stave off the tears, but you quickly realize you are fighting a losing battle. Though you can’t feel Sokka’s calloused thumb against your scared cheek, you’re certain it’s there, wiping away your tears with a steady hand.

 

“Mmm. Maybe. But you’re too important. Let me go in your place.” He delivers his argument with the conviction of a man who knows his words are fact. And you have no doubt that Sokka would be willing – would be happy – to give his life for yours. But you could never accept it.

 

“No. Sokka. _No._ I would trade the whole world – the whole world just for your smile.” The certainty with which you say those words frightens even you. You hope there never comes a day when you are forced to make such a choice. You don’t think you’d be easily forgiven for it.

 

“Zuko. _Please._ Don’t. Don’t say that.” His voice wavers as his own cheeks are finally wet with tears. You see something there that can only be describes as dread and have the sneaking suspicion that he’s hiding something from you. But now is not the time to dig for Sokka’s secrets.

 

“Why not?” you almost chuckle, “I can’t lose you. I won’t.” For now, your argument, if you can call it that, is put to rest, the two of you lapsing into a charged silence. You allow it to drag on for as long as it likes, too long probably, anchored to Sokka by the hand that still rests contently in your hair.

 

“I can’t lose you.” You whisper it quietly to no one in particular, letting the words hang in the air between you, a revelation that needs to be spoken, lest it waste away and you with it. You turn your head slowly, placing a long, gentle kiss on the inside of Sokka’s wrist, feeling his heartbeat beneath your touch as your own heart flutters wildly in your chest.

 

You hadn’t quite meant to do that, and you jolt slightly as you pull away, searching Sokka’s face frantically for his reaction. But he is already asleep, his hair falling across his now peaceful face. You lean in close to brush it aside, and as your fingertips brush his cheek you feel a warmth spread up your arm and through your body. You’re familiar with it, and now it finally has a name. Having done so already, you can’t quite stop yourself from placing a slow kiss on Sokka’s forehead.

 

“I love you.” A quiet confession whispered against soft skin is not enough, never enough, to say how you feel, how you’ve felt, for how long you don’t even know.  And thank the spirits Sokka hadn’t been awake to hear it. He deserves better. Far better, you think, than a few words murmured into the night, after so long.

 

Had there ever been a time when you hadn’t felt this way? If there was, you couldn’t recall it. You longed to tell him, but you had never been good with words, and this felt too delicate for your clumsy ramblings, even if Sokka had always been good at reading between the lines. If you could only find the words to tell him, explain that you would give anything. Anything at all. If only for him.

 

For Sokka?

 

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I'm sorry for all the angst. But it had to be done. Also I'm preemptively sorry for the angst of the next chapter too. But don't worry, things eventually work out!! It's just sometimes you have to beat your characters with a really big stick to make them stop being stupid.
> 
> Also, it's been a while since my last update, but school's back in and as usual, it's crazy. Still, hopefully I can post again soon!!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!!! Feel free to leave a comment or hit me up if you want to talk! I'm on tumblr as @backcountry-deltora!! (or @mavy1 for my main)


	4. Rain

The sky is grey again today. It’s been grey for the last few days, threatening rain but never quite delivering. The weak morning sun has little hope of breaking through the haze, and the cold sea air seeps through your clothes down to your bones. The distant rush of waves seems almost deafening when the only other sound is the miss-matched plodding of two sets of feet along the long wooden dock.

 

You had asked to be left alone for this. The guards had been reluctant at first, but in the end, they had allowed it. You were greatful. As much as you didn’t want anyone here to witness this, you doubt very much that they wanted to either. Although you plan to let this happen quietly, and with grace, somehow things never seem to go according to plan.

 

Because Sokka is leaving. He’s leaving the Fire nation and he’s leaving you.

 

Reaching the end of the dock you pause, trapped together in a seemingly endless uneasy moment. You taste the salt on your lips as you worry them between your teeth, reluctant to be the first to speak. Everything has been prepared since last night. Loaded onto a ship that will take Sokka away – take him home. His real home. All that’s left is to say goodbye. Only you can’t quite bring yourself to say it.

 

The two of you stand together awkwardly. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, yet stubbornly set apart. It would be so easy to close that distance, to take him in your arms, to tell him anything and everything if only it would make him stay. But you know now, that was never how this was going to be.

 

Sokka won’t meet your gaze, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck with his good hand, his other arm slung against his chest. Hardly healed, but evidently well enough to travel. You would call the tension between you unusual, but lately it felt this way whenever you were together, and pointedly so when you were alone. You both have your secrets, and aim to keep them. You’ve never had secrets before. Not with Sokka.

 

“Are you sure you have to leave? It’s barely been a month since you were injured.” Though the healers had done their best, you wouldn’t say Sokka was well, certainly not well enough to make the long voyage to the southern water tribe. But trying to stop Sokka would be almost as useless as trying to stop the tides. And everyone knows there’s no arguing with the tides.

 

“You know I do. With my father sick… my tribe needs me right now.” Sokka had received the letter nearly a week ago. Katara was certain he would recover, but Hakoda had requested Sokka’s return, undoubtably concerned for his son’s well-being, though admitting that to Sokka would likely only keep him from coming. He could never appear weak. He could never need someone.

 

“I know. I’m just worried about you. Plus, you know the healers will have my head if anything happens to you.” A small chuckle escapes Sokka’s lips at that. It’s an exaggeration, true, but not by much.

 

“Well not to worry then. If anyone can fix me up it’s Katara. I’ll be all healed up in no time. I couldn’t let anything happen to your dumb head now, could I?” He fixes you with a fond look, soft and warm in a way you haven’t seen in weeks, and it brings an ache to your chest that broods and settles there with unrelenting resolve.

 

“No, I suppose not.” You’re certain his words hold no small amount of truth. Everything he’s done he’s done for you. To help _you_ , to save _you_. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think his leaving must have something to do with you as well. His father’s illness may have provided the best opportunity for escape, but this feels far more significant than that.  Though you are loath to admit it, you know in your heart once he sets foot on that boat he isn’t coming back. Just as you know there’s no stopping it.

 

“Sokka. Why? Why are you doing this?” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite keep the tears from your eyes as you dig for the truth, however painful it might be.

 

“What do you mean? You know why. I just – “

 

“No. I know what you said. Don’t tell me again what you said. That’s not your only reason. Please, Sokka. What are you keeping from me? Why won’t you just tell me I can handle it I promise please just tell me!” Maybe it’s cruel. After all, he isn’t the only one with secrets. But you can’t let him leave without trying.

 

“Zuko. I’m not – “

 

“Don’t, Sokka. Don’t you _dare_ lie to me. If you insist on keeping your secrets, _fine_ but don’t lie. Not anymore. Not to my face.” You had both been lying for weeks. To yourselves and to each other. But not anymore. Not when you’re so sure that this is the end of the road for the two of you. Not when it hurts so much to know he doesn’t trust you.

 

Because he is. He is keeping something from you. The more demands you make, the more frustrated you become and angry tears you shed the more he folds in on himself. It’s uncharacteristic, but he’s trapped, and he knows it.

 

“I – I can’t.” He turns away from you at first, dejected, but you can see his mind begin to race, and the panic that sets in. Head down, he loops his fingers around the back of his neck, pacing the dock nervously for a while before coming to a stop in front of you, placing his hand on your shoulder. His grip is strong, his voice tight but definite. “I just. I can’t.”  

 

He finally meets your gaze, and not for the first time you find yourself left speechless by the splendor of those magnificent blue eyes, now wet with tears caused by your own selfishness. It’s then that you realize just how badly he wants to grant your wish. You can see the pain, and the longing, but mostly you’re struck by the magnitude of his despair. And you know you don’t have it in you to push any more.

 

 He closes his eyes and lifts his head skyward. The grey of the world surrounds you then, and you can’t help but think how dreary things are going to be without Sokka to bring warmth and light, and you wish for rain.

 

After a time, he lowers his head onto your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t much of a goodbye,” he murmurs softly against your skin.

 

With that he turns to leave, to cross the seas and not return. But you can’t let it end this way. Catching his wrist, you pull him into a tight embrace. Burying your face in his hair and fisting your hands in his shirt you breathe him in, letting yourself feel everything one last time.

 

“No, it’s- it’s alright.” It’s too soon to let it end, when you’ve only just come to know just how you feel, but you need to if you’re going to endure.

 

For what it’s worth, Sokka holds you just as close, his breath hot and ragged against your collar. You stay tangled together for a long time, waiting for the strength to carry on alone, though you doubt it will come any time soon. Eventually he pulls away, his departing look more forlorn than any you can recall. This touch lingers as he traces a path down your arm, over the inside of your wrist where your heart beats frantically for him, and across your hand, where his movement falters as your fingers touch. And then he’s gone. He turns away, boarding his ship without looking back.

 

And he doesn’t look back. You’re ashamed to say that perhaps you waited for it, watched for it, for a long time. Too long. Even until much after his ship had passed far over the horizon. You hoped he would turn back, and return to you. He doesn’t. You didn’t truly believe he would. You pray for rain. But none falls. You pray for anything at all to relieve this sorrow.

 

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! It's been a while, but school's been busy and I just finally found time to do this.
> 
> I know this is a bit angsty (again), but we've got one more chapter to go and I promise things will end well!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and as always I really appreciate any feed-back you might want to give. Also, feel free to find me on tumblr @backcountry-deltora (art and writing) or @mavy1 (main) to have a chat!


	5. Frost

The ocean yawns a deep indigo hue, its great depths exposed and laid bare by the vast chasms cracking their way through thick panes of ivory ice, the destruction wrought by the sharp steel of the bow of your ship as it carves its way south, leaving a gaping maw of open water in its wake.

 

You observe this great battle somewhat absently from the safety of the deck, distracted by your own troubled thoughts. You run the folds of a thick piece of parchment nervously between your fingers for what must be the hundredth time, its rough surface and the broken seal of blue wax adorning its edge worn smooth by your worry. Unfolding it, you read again the tidy words scrawled there. Addressed to you and your uncle, the invitation to the southern water tribe’s winter solstice festival is a formal one, revealing nothing of its would-be author.

 

“Zuko?” Your uncle’s voice barely reaches you over the rush of the cold winter wind in your ears, but suddenly he’s beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

 

“Ah, there you are nephew.” Your flash him a half-hearted smile and a side-long glance, your focus still mainly elsewhere.

 

“What seems to be troubling you?” You shake your head at first, trying to ease his concern, but he knows you far too well for that to be of any use, and you have to admit, confiding in him might be nice.

 

“I don’t know if this is a good idea uncle. I haven’t spoken to Sokka, I haven’t even heard from him, since he left the fire nation. It’s been so long. What if…” You trail off, unsure how to express exactly what it is you’re so afraid of. Sokka was long gone, so why was it that seeing him again felt like it would mean losing him all over?

 

Iroh is quiet for a time, pondering your words carefully. “Zuko, do you believe Sokka cares for you?” he queries gently.

 

“Yes. Yes, of course he does.” Though his leaving had caused you great pain, you had to admit you could never have any doubt of his affection towards you, even now. The reminder does offer you a small comfort.

 

“He is a stubborn young man. Almost as stubborn as you yourself. But I hope, perhaps, at least one of you is ready to admit a few things to the other. What do you think?”

 

“I have nothing to admit to him.” You’re not sure what the point in lying is, since your uncle can always see right through you anyways, but confessing how you feel, despite being sure that Iroh likely already knows, feels almost like an admission of guilt. Or at least that you bear some of the responsibility for your current predicament.

 

“Hmm… Well it had better be Sokka then.” Your uncle laughs heartily at that, but all you can do is roll your eyes in exasperation.

 

“In any case, I do not think you have anything to worry about. As I recall, your friend has never been good at keeping his thoughts to himself for very long. I have a feeling you’ll soon know how things will work out between you.”

 

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s dangerous. But you can’t help the flicker of hope that’s been ignited in your chest, or the small but genuine smile that touches your lips. He’s probably right. For better or for worse, in a few days time this would be over. And what was so wrong with hoping it would turn out in your favour? At least you could be happy now, even if you might not be later.

 

“I think I should keep this with me.” Taking advantage of your distraction, Iroh snatches the invitation from your hand, stowing it safely inside the pocket of his robe before turning to return to the cabin.

 

“Would you like a cup of tea nephew? I feel it might finally be time you admitted a few things to me, even if you have nothing to share with Sokka.” A sly grin appears on his normally kindly face, but it causes you no alarm. If you could count on anyone for their love and support, it was your uncle.

 

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 “Zuko, we need to talk.” You follow Hakoda through the village gates and along winding paths, slick with ice and lit merrily by dancing torchlight, though you feel little of the glad warmth they offer.

 

Cold was the greeting you had received from the water tribe, both in the frigid air and in the detached words of the heir to its ever-growing grandeur. If you had expected Sokka to greet you with the same warmth and radiant smile he used to you had truly been fooling yourself.

 

You walk together slowly, almost invisible in the crowd of joyful faces, the busy celebration offering a kind of anonymity that silence and solitude never could. Eventually you settle around a hearty blaze in the centre of the village and while the bustle continues around you, no one attempts to join you, or interrupt.

 

“Look, it’s about Sokka – “

 

“Hang on,” you interject, incredulous. “I thought this was going to be about some kind of official business, but you’re telling me you just want to meddle in my business with your son, is that is?”

 

“Well, there is something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you more formally, and I’ll get to that in a minute, it’s just…”

 

He stares blankly into the fire, rubbing the back of his neck nervously in a way that is so distinctly _Sokka_ you can’t help but realize just how much he reminds you of him, and wonder what else they might share.

 

“I – I must admit it, I was wrong to bring Sokka here,” he confesses at length. “When I heard he had been injured, I knew he would never ask for our help himself, but I thought perhaps, if he were already here, he would have no choice but to accept. And though I was right about that, I see now that while Katara may have been able to heal his body, some far greater damage has been done to his heart.” You can read the pain clearly in Hakoda’s pinched expressing, wearing his heart plainly on his sleeve. Another family trait, you note.

 

“I must apologize Zuko. I never realized what the two of you shared.” He turns a kind smile on you, fixing you with a look you can’t quite read, but feels warm and important all the same. “Perhaps if I had, I might have been more sensitive. But sadly, my son and I share an unfortunate tendency towards obliviousness, as well as the ability to plant our feet firmly in our mouths.” He chuckles softly at that, and you can’t help the ghost of a smile creeping onto your lips.

 

“I don’t disapprove, Zuko.” He murmurs kindly at your stillness, the soft, gentle tone all too familiar to you.

 

Finally, you understand his meaning. “No, it’s not – it’s mean we were never – it was never like that between us.” You manage to stammer through your growing embarrassment.

 

“Well if that’s the case, then you certainly have a remarkable ability to break the heart of someone you claim doesn’t love you.” It’s pointed and blunt, though not in an accusatory way. The idea, however, that Sokka had not only shared your feelings, but had been hurt because of it, still smashes over your head like being hit with a vase. You find yourself unable to respond in any way, let alone any favourable way, apart from simply staring wide-eyed and open mouthed as Hakoda turns to prod restlessly at the fire.

 

“I know Sokka hasn’t exactly rolled out the welcome wagon for you, but I do hope you won’t hold that against him too harshly. My son can be very stubborn. He spends so much time weighing his decisions it’s hard for him to admit when he’s come to the wrong conclusion. I don’t know why exactly he left the fire nation, but I think – I know…” He trails off, shaking his head, weary and solemn.

 

“It’s not my place to speak for Sokka. But, however things were – however things are, I think you two need to have a serious discussion. It’s not too late to try to work things out.” There’s a hopefulness in the suggestion you can’t quite match and don’t want to trust.

 

“And if I can’t?” You counter, a little too sharply.

 

Hakoda is silent for a time, contemplating his next words with intensity, brow set heavily, and mouth drawn into a thin scowl. “Things haven’t been easy for me here. Without Sokka in the fire nation, we have no ambassador, and sorting everything out with you by letter is becoming increasingly cumbersome…”

 

“You’re saying that if I can’t convince Sokka to return with me now, that you’re going to assign someone else as your ambassador.” How you had been so optimistic mere days ago you can hardly remember. Sokka’s disdain for your presence and his father’s meddling have left you only a hollow feeling in your chest where anger would be if you only had the strength left to feel it.

 

“This isn’t easy for me Zuko.” He assures. “I don’t take this decision lightly but… if you can’t smooth things over, then I think this is what’s best for everyone.” Silently, you agree. But that doesn’t keep the sour taste from flooding your mouth or stop the burning in the back of your throat or behind your eyes. You are not nearly convinced that this conversation is going to go well. Or that it will even be worth the pain it will undoubtably cause you.

 

“Then you better tell him he’s being replaced. I doubt very much I’ll be able to patch things up so easily.”

 

“Oh no.” He chuckles almost darkly. “He’s your ambassador. If anyone’s going to be telling him that, it’s you.” With that, Hakoda stands, leaving you alone in your stupor before you could even begin to form a rebuttal. You aren’t ready for this. You probably never will be. And you’re sure Sokka isn’t. You aren’t confident he’ll even be willing to listen, but you’re being forced to play your hand. In fact, you’re suddenly almost sure that’s the whole point. All that’s left for you is to leap, and pray to Agni that Sokka won’t be too stubborn – or too late - to catch you.

 

* * *

 

 

A bundle of smooth pelt and soft fur blindsides you, hitting you square in the face with a soft thump, blinding you momentarily as you struggle to resurface from under its suffocating weight. Breaking free you catch sight of where – or rather who – it came from. Sokka stands smiling broadly down at you where you sit rather undignified upon the hard floor of his own hut, eyes sparkling in the firelight and cheeks reddened by the warm rush of air against his wind-whipped skin.

 

“Come with me.” He extends a hand out to you, cautious and inviting, and just like that all the pain and the loneliness of the past year seems to melt away, the memory of your recent quarrel giving you only a moment’s pause before you brush it aside, taking Sokka’s hand firmly in your own.

 

You follow him through his village, slipping occasionally on the slick paths, but Sokka holds firm to your hand, keeping you safely upright, hurrying you along past the golden and blue blur of his home. Past white walls of ice, lounging in the powdery snow of the peaceful outside world, six sleek dogs with lolling tongues and warm brown eyes are waiting harnessed fast to a sled overflowing with blankets and pelts. The simplicity is charming and quaint, a far cry from royal grandeur, and you are only more enchanted for it.

 

“Put that on. We can’t have you catching a cold now, can we?” Sokka offers you a shy smile as you slip the coat over your more formal attire. Then, placing his hands on your shoulders he sits you in the basket of the sled, covering you to your chin with a blanket before mounting the sled and pushing off.

 

You have absolutely no idea what’s going on. And you find you don’t mind that at all.

 

The sled carves its way across the open tundra, your mind racing to match it. You would never have predicted that Sokka would come back for you. Not after the way you had last spoken. You don’t know if you could call it a fight, but it certainly hadn’t been pleasant. You had peeled back Sokka’s cold exterior like old curled paint, revealing the dry rot festering beneath. The pain and the heartbreak and the _guilt_ you had exposed in him had shocked you at first, but the more you thought on it, the more you realized it had been there all along, seeded the moment he had decided to leave and growing ever since. You had seen it then, too, you recall now. But you had never known why. Whether or not he had meant to, he had all but confessed that too. A feeling he couldn’t quite speak, a name he would never utter, but you were all too familiar with. Honest, true, and terrifying. Really, knowing what you do now, you should never have doubted he would come for you.

 

The night is dark save the faint starlight reflecting off the snow and icy haze of your breath, and the cold so deep and vast you would certainly be lost to it without Sokka as your lifeline. Instead you feel a gentle warmth settling in your chest, and this time it doesn’t feel misplaced.

 

Eventually, Sokka pulls the sled up against a high rocky outcrop, ragged from wind and frost and pitch-black beneath the indigo sky. His boots crunch in the snow as he helps you to your feet. Turning to the sled be busies himself unloading it, carefully keeping his gaze averted from yours, one hand finding its way to the back of his neck tensely, telling you all you need to know.

 

He’s nervous. He had been stubborn, as predicted, and now couldn’t seem to find confidence over his embarrassment to do so much as speak.  So, you’ll just have to.

 

“So, I guess this means you’ve decided to come back?” Try as you might you can’t quite hold back the slight tease, or the warmth that comes with your growing optimism.

 

Finally, he turns to you, shoulders slumped, arms crossed, mind clearly wandering. He licks his lips and coughs slightly before answering. “I – I would love to. That is, if you still want me. If you’ll still have me.”

 

“Of course I want you, Sokka.” His words are so fervent, regret and sorrow so apparent in his watery blue eyes and stiff frame, and before you know what you’re doing you have a firm hand on his arm, your want to comfort him your only thought. He meets your eyes, his own filled with barely contained tears, and you can’t help the soft smile that touches your lips. But your solace only seems to shatter him further.

 

“Zuko I – I’m sorry.” He cries suddenly, pressing shaking hands to your shoulders, fingers brushing against your neck. “I’m  _so, so sorry_. I can’t – I don’t know  _how_  to – “

 

“Shhh… It’s alright, Sokka” you croon, silencing his lament by pressing your thumb gently against his lips as you caress his cheek. “One time is enough. I know. I believe you.” And you do. _Spirits_ , you do. Beyond your belief, you _feel_ it, deep in your chest, penetrating your very bones. You know what it’s like, to feel guilty and ashamed. You know all about making the wrong decisions because you though you were doing what was best – what was right.

 

Sokka leans slowly into your touch, covering your hand on his cheek with his own, steadying his weight against you, pressing his brow to yours. You feel his shaky breath against your skin, and the slight chuckle that escapes his lips is one of relief. The tension between you ebbs away, leaving only shared warmth and fondness.

 

You stay that way for a long while, relishing in that intimate moment. But eventually, your curiosity gets the better of you. You pull back, raising your brow. “Sokka, what are we doing here?”

 

“You can’t see the lights from in the village nearly as well.” He explains. “I figured, as long as you’re here, I might as well give you something to really remember. You’ll be glad we came out here. Trust me.”

 

“I already am.” The confession slips quietly between your lips without thought, but you don’t mind. You’re done hiding how you really feel from Sokka.

 

Sokka pulls away from you, returning to the sled. With an armload of blankets, he makes himself comfortable, sheltered from the wind in a crag in the nearby rock face, pulling you down to join him. He bundles you both in swathes of soft fur and cloth, and waits. For what exactly, you’re not sure. Between your frayed nerves and the anticipation of it all, you fear your heart may jump out of your chest right here and now. The blood rushing in your ears seems the loudest sound the universe has ever known.

 

Then Sokka takes your hand. Gently. Absently. He doesn’t even look over, and you’re not quite sure he realizes he’s done it. You can feel the warmth that radiates from him then, his subdued smile like a ray of much-needed sunshine which you soak up greedily. You let out a long, shaky breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, and allow yourself to relax into the moment. You hold tight to his hand. And wait as he is.

 

You don’t have to wait long.

 

The light rolls in like the tide, the spray of rich colour lapping against indigo sky, drowning the faint and distant starlight. It twists and curls as though a stone had fallen into its great depths, ripples spreading the soft and summery greens and pinks until the entirety of this grand hemisphere is iridescent as abalone. You’re certain you sit on the edge of the sky. And at any moment the world might tip, sending you plunging into its endless radiance.

 

You can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. You have seen many extraordinary things in your lifetime, but never anything quite like this.

 

“Sokka, this is magnificent.”

 

“Yeah” Sokka’s sigh is thick with adoration, setting your heart alight. You come crashing down like dry old timber, scorched by its wild blaze.

 

Turning to him then, you’re startled to find he stares not at the lights, but rather his gaze is fixed on you, his eyes shining resplendent beneath the glow of the heavens above and well - at least now you know were all those stars went upon their banishment from the sky – Sokka holds them all.

 

Restraint was never something you were known for, and you have more than a little trouble calling on it now. You manage to catch your wayward lip between your teeth before you do something stupid and impulsive. You hold your breath and wait for the moment to pass - only it doesn’t. Sokka quirks his lips into an easy grin, and the sight of it feels as though you’re be punched full in the chest.

 

No, you just can’t help yourself. “I – I don’t think I can go back to how things were before.”

 

Sokka tilts his head slightly, reaching out and delicately brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He seems to revel in the moment as he allows his fingers to trace the line of your jaw slowly and surely, drawing the pad of his thumb gently along your lower lip, releasing it from its restrains. His hand trails up your cheek before coming to rest at the nape of your neck, his fingers absently threading into the hair gathered there.  “I know I can’t.” And he smiles.

 

His eyes reverse the path his touch had just marked until the reach your lips, where he lingers.

 

“Zuko would it- would it be alright if –“ His voice wavers for a moment, a giddy nervousness plain in his hesitation. “Can I kiss you?”

 

“Please.” You practically beg for it, and though you should feel a little ashamed of that, it isn’t something you can muster up just now. Or maybe ever again.

 

His eyes slide shut, his brow knit with purpose and _longing_ as he draws you in towards him. A tilt of his chin and he has you, lips parted slightly to catch your own between them. It’s a little wind-chapped, but you scarcely notice, the profound urgency of his tender touch so long awaited and imagined rolling over you, your chest tight against its surging waves.

 

And it’s too much. And it’s not enough. And it’s warm, and it’s deep and it’s reverent. And it _is._

 

Sokka breaks the kiss sharply, overwhelmed, his breath damp and hot and ragged against your skin.

_“Sokka”_ You gasp, not quite able to keep the whine out of your voice, and unable or unwilling to stop yourself from asking, from _pleading_ , for so much _more._ Not that Sokka needs much convincing.

 

Kissing him is satisfying the way melting frost beneath your fingertips is, his skin chilled by winter air and blush-heated patchy beneath your touch as it roams his face and down his neck inside the hood of his coat. Heartbeats, fervent beneath your fingertips drum a familiar rhythm. You think maybe Sokka played it once for you at some near-forgotten festival. Then you stop thinking altogether. The salty sea-air taste of Sokka’s mouth, the quiet moan he utters as he pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth, the tangle of his fingers in your hair, it leaves you breathless.

 

That feverish ache eases slowly, softening then ceasing. Sokka still keeps his brow pressed to yours, peppering occasional kisses against the corners of your mouth, the apples of your cheeks, wandering and directionless. He smiles through it all, and your face aches with a matching grin.

 

The night grows long and weary, but still you remain, indigo silhouettes framed gold beneath a churning sky.

 

“We’re missing the lights.” It’s a shame really, such a beautiful sight wasting away behind you. But you don’t look away. And neither does he.

 

“The lights come every year.” He murmurs. “But I’ll only have this moment once in my lifetime. And I want to chose which parts I remember.”

 

The sigh you hide your awe beneath is a poor disguise. But you’re not really trying too hard at it.

 

“I suppose we can always come back next year.” You suggest.

 

Sokka merely hums his approval. Settling his head into the crook of your neck, he traces new-found constellations upon your chest, which rises and falls in time with his own. A calm settles over you, and as Sokka settles into silence his face pinches slightly, thoughtfully.

 

“Zuko.” He breathes your name like prayer. “There’s so much I want – I _need_ – to tell you. But I don’t even know where or how to begin.”

 

“It’s alright. We have time,” you assure him. And for the first time, you know it with absolute certainty.

 

“Yeah. I suppose we do.” He’s silent for a beat, then shifts to look into your eyes, his one hand planted firmly on your chest, fingers dug into the fabric of your borrowed coat.

 

“It’ll take me a little time to work things out here. A few weeks, maybe. But after that – I’ll come to you in the fire nation. I’ll stay with you. I promise it.” His voice is so earnest, so raw and exposed, words spoken like a creed who’s religion is you – and you have enough faith in him to rival it.

 

Your lips pull into a soft smile that he mirrors. As you place a gentle kiss on his forehead the fur that rims his hood tickles your nose, and you pull him back into your chest, his head fitting into the curve of your neck and shoulder. You laugh warm and quiet, and burry your face into that velvety fur, savouring the last dredges of this grand night.

 

“I’ll write to you.” He says at length. “I promise. Every day.”

 

You chuckle. “Every day huh? You don’t think that might be just a little excessive?”

 

“Hmmm... Fine. Maybe I won’t write you every day. But whenever I think of you, I’ll write.” You can’t see his smile from where his face is buried against your neck, but you know it’s there. It paints his voice such a wonderful timber.

 

“Sounds fair to me.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

They say parting is such sweet sorrow. That’s something you’ve never understood before. But if all you did from the moment the southern water tribe disappeared over the horizon until the instant Sokka set foot in the fire nation was count the hundreds of thousands of seconds that passed, you don’t think it would be time wasted.

 

Torture. It’s the only word you can think of that describes what it feels like, standing on the ship’s deck, staring far away where the blue of the sea meets the sky, imagining the colour of Sokka’s eyes.

 

You wonder if he’s thinking of you, too. You wonder how long it will take.

 

Your answer comes long before you’re even able to make landfall. You watch as the black bird, a shadow against the grey sky approaches from over the edge of the world. It lands beside you, allowing you just enough time to remove its precious cargo before soaring off again.

 

Old parchment curled and yellowed, and new, freshly ink-stained are fastened together tidily with blue string. You unfurl the new letter first, revealing Sokka’s familiar scrawl, which burns beneath your touch.

 

               _Zuko,_

_I promised I’d write to you whenever I thought to, didn’t I? Actually, it’s a promise I kept long before I made it. I think it’s time I actually send you those letters. I could never bring myself to get rid of them any more than I could to send them before. I don’t think it will be easy, for me or for you, but I think I have to. I can’t express to you how I feel now, without you knowing how I felt then._

_Love,_

_Sokka_

And slowly, Sokka sends them all. Every single letter he’d written you in the time since he’d left. Every mournful explanation. Every painful revelation. Every gutting confession. Dozens of them.

 

He isn’t wrong – they do hurt. More than that. They sting something furious. Like hornets. Like hell-fire.

 

And if, alone in your cabin, pouring over this collection of relics with burning eyes you cry yourself hoarse, until the tears won’t come but the salt-stained skin they leave behind has you feeling like a new and different man when you scrub it away, well then that’s just between you and the letters, now marked with more than just ink.

 

And even when those ancient lamentations run dry, it doesn’t stop him. Sokka, true to his word, writes you every time he thinks of you. And he thinks of you often. To the exasperation of those around you, you receive multitudes of letters every day. They pile up on your desk, your wardrobe, their white whorls avalanche their way to the floor. Their arrival interrupts meals, and meetings, dragging you from the mundanity of the life you’ve become accustomed to without him.

 

Sometimes he retells his day – of what drove him to thoughts of you. Sometimes they’re short and sweet, stating simply he was thinking of you, and he had a promise to keep. Often what he sends is lengthy and ornate, verses and stanzas where Sokka waxes poetic over his current preoccupation. The colour of your eyes, the shape of your lips when you smile, the sound of your laugh, the way your skin feels beneath his fingertips, soft and warm. Every part of you, even those you didn’t know before.

 

Occasionally, the letters are blank, save his signature at the bottom of the parchment – _with all my love, Sokka._ Anyone else reading these could be forgiven for thinking he had sent them as an obligation. But you know better. Sokka left speechless is worth more than the most intricately crafted love letter, and he made sure you knew how often you were the cause of such a rare occurrence.

 

The last thing you receive isn’t from Sokka at all. It’s a notice from the guards on watch. A water tribe vessel was spotted pulling into the bay. There might have been more, but you don’t stop to read it. You don’t stop for anything. You’re half way to the docks before you realize you’ve forgotten your shoes. But you don’t turn back, don’t even think of it. Reaching the stairs that lead down the cliff face to the ocean, you pause.

 

Sokka’s boat cuts across the water with practiced precision. And Sokka, he’s perched on its deck, hair loose and tousled by the salt spray, arms bared to the sun, brown skin wanting of freckles, smile bright and easy. He catches sight of you, raising a hand in greeting, and you think you might hear his laughter echoing off the cliffs. Or maybe you dreamed it. Either way, it sends you racing down the stairs to meet him.

 

He pulls the little vessel up against the dock, hoping onto it gracefully, and breaks into a run. His boots drown the padding of your bare feet on the wood as you race towards each other, unaware and heedless of the world outside the two of you.

 

You pull up just short of one another, panting and smiling and drinking in the sight of his sun-flushed skin and dishevelled, travel-weary self. The meeting holds a kind of charged finality to it, the resolution to a lifetime’s worth of wanting that you just don’t know how to end.

 

Luck for you, as usual, Sokka does.

 

Laughing warmly, he takes one final step forward, closing the last distance between you. He slips a hand behind your head, threading his fingers into your hair, one arm resting on your shoulder, the other circling your waist as he draws you near, pressing your brow to the bridge of his nose. The arm around you tightens, and suddenly your being lifted off your feet.

 

Startled, you laugh as he spins you once before setting you down lightly. You stumble backwards a few steps, unbalanced, but he holds you firm, and you cling to his shoulders. Leaning back slightly you stare into his shining eyes, crinkled gladly at the corners.

 

You reach one hand up to his cheek, tracing those beloved smile lines with your thumb. He presses into your touch, turning his head and ghosting a gentle kiss on the inside of your wrist with a breathy chuckle.

 

“ _Zuko_.” He breathes. “ _Spirits_ , I –“ He trails off, words caught in his throat. But you understand.

 

“I know Sokka. I know.”

 

“No, you don’t.” He insists fiercely.  “You don’t.”

 

He pulls back just enough to fix you with a look so fond, so deeply adoring, you feel the hot blush that rises on your cheeks, your neck, your shoulders and have to thank the spirits silently yourself for Sokka’s strong arm holding your up, for you fear you might just melt under the affect of his reverent smile and doting touch.

 

“I – I love you. I know it’s too soon to say it, but I –“

 

You cut him off by pulling him into a kiss, a little off-centre and hasty, but in moments you’ve shifted, deepening the kiss, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

 

“I love you too.” You assure him as you break apart, uttering the confession against his lips, exactly where it was always meant to be.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Because how could you possibly not.

 

The smile he gives you at that is unquestionably the most magnificent thing you’ve ever seen. More exhilarating than redirecting lightning. More beautiful than the celestial lights of the south pole. Perfect. Better than anything.

 

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait for this update, the year has been kind of hectic so far. And thank you for sticking with me and reading this series! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This should be the end, unless I feel particularly compelled to write out a few of Sokka's letter, or someone feels particularly compelled to ask for them.
> 
> Thanks again! I'd really love to hear what you though of this chapter or series, and as always you can find me on tumblr @backcountry-deltora or @mavy1. I have my next work started, but if there's anything you'd like to see, hit me up! I'm always starving for new ideas!


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